


Fire and Water: A Tale In Short Chapters

by woolgathered



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 02:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 22,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woolgathered/pseuds/woolgathered
Summary: A bardic account of our dnd adventure, from my bard's point of view, back when she thought she was college of lore material.





	1. The Well

We all met in a tavern. 

There weren’t formal introductions, and there probably never would have been, if it weren’t for the scraggly teen who plowed through the front door to yell, “Father, Father, Timmy fell down the well!” 

I could tell you how we all rushed to the well with heroic urgency, but that would be more embellishment than I am comfortable with. Viertes, Aramil, and Walagorn did, know that, although Viertes seemed more interested in a reward than the others.

I am Nymphadora, by all appearances a young wandering performer. There isn’t much more to tell. I am not sure who I am but I know what I want. The only thing that matters: true love. 

You laugh. I’ve been laughed at before. How can a girl who waits for true love sell her body as a dancer on stage after stage? You do know they aren’t clapping for your music, bard? Go ahead, mock me. I have chosen this life, and I gave up my family for love. I dance and sing and do what I must because I know that once I find my lover, all that has come before will be meaningless. I travel and survive, waiting for a sign. And I try to stay out of trouble. I guess I should try harder in the future.

After most of the crowd had run for the well, I looked around at the remaining customers and sighed. My evening’s tips were going to suffer. I was leaning over to pack up my lute when I saw someone approaching a table from the corner of my eye. Movement away, not toward, the door was of interest. I knelt and pretended to pay attention to my packing while listening intently over the clatter of the inn.

“Please… my cat… my cat fell with Timmy down the well.”

The cloaked man, plain of voice, was appealing to a slender, unusual form at a side table that I had not previously noticed. A tiefling by the curl of her tail around one chair leg, with horns spiraling back over her hair. I had never spoken to a tiefling. My teacher- my only friend- had warned me to steer clear and I took those warnings to heart. Having lived a sheltered life, I wasn’t sure who to trust in the wider world I was so newly a part of. 

The tiefling woman rose, and the man gestured to me now, beckoning. 

“Please, come help. My cat!”

All my gear was packed. I shouldered it and followed the two, planning to walk by the well before wishing them luck and heading to wash and sleep at the inn next door. I had no interest in the townsfolk. This place was a cultural desert with no appreciation for poetry and music. Besides, I knew Timmy. He was always getting in trouble and into places he didn’t belong. He’d be alright. The cat I did not know, but don’t they always land on their feet anyway?


	2. Wet Feet

I lingered for too long wellside. If I had snuck away as I intended I might have been sleeping, but the desperate Innkeeper pulled me in and asked when I had last seen his boy. His eyes, wide and sad...suddenly I thought of my own father and what he must have felt the day after I disappeared. Dammit. 

By the time the tiefling woman and I were near the bottom, we were the fifth and sixth to go down. The room we were in was large and dark, but one of the others had a lantern. And my feet were wet. We had all landed in the water of the well, but luckily none of us into the center spring, where the cold water continued for dark fathoms. My female companion- her name, I learned, was Vasellia- and I looked at the center pool and agreed immediately that Timmy and the cat were probably long drowned, if they were even down here. It wouldn’t hurt to look around, though, and the others with us were intently searching. Secretly, I did not want to go back up without hope for that man. 

I heard several voices around me calling out for Timmy, and added my own flippant “Here, kitty kitty kitty!” Vasellia laughed, a melodious laugh that seemed both seldom-used and genuine.

The room had several doors, including a colossal bronze pair that looked like something from an illuminated manuscript. On either side of these rose two stairways, but I could not see what they led to. Behind us were more doors, smaller but also cast in metal relief. The water was contained by a shallow stone ring about the room, and the man holding the lantern was inspecting the large doors. His name was Viertes, and his eyes glinted with excitement as he inspected the solid bronze and elaborate design. 

“I know a guy…” he began, and as he went on I looked up at the well entrance, smaller in diameter than the doors. How much did they weigh, anyway? Who had built them? The relief depicted religious iconography with which I was only slightly familiar. Fire and Water, elemental gods. There were stories of an ancient war...

The shadows of my new companions were deceptive, so it took me some time to get my bearings among them. Vasellia I had seen in the light of day, but these others were just faces in the crowd at the tavern. There was Viertes, one hand on the hilt of his greatsword and the other tapping the solid brass doors. Next to him, examining the stairway, was an half-elf man, wrapped in a thick fur that made him appear much broader than he was. I learned his name was Seamus. Another elf, upright and serious, was Aramil, and he was dressed in the robes of a cleric. He was speaking with a man whose face I could not see, and the two of them tried one of the smaller doors behind us. With no sign of the boy or cat behind the small doors, we gathered in front of the massive metal entryway.


	3. The Great Temple of Fire and Water

We tried the cold handles but the doors would not move. Some of the men yelled up at the crowd around the well and Viertes tried again, wielding a crowbar. No luck. Then Aramil and Seamus rushed up the stairs, excited about a wet path they had previously missed on one side. We saw them disappear into darkness. They were elves; they could see where I could not. Soon Seamus yelled back, “We can open the doors from this side! Stand back!” 

Viertes drew his sword as a loud clang sounded like a great bell. The doors came open with heavy moaning on their hinges, and we were surprised to see the room within was well-lit. A pillar of fire raged upon an altar in the midst of a vast hall, and at first it was all that was visible after the dim light of the lantern. For a time we hung timidly near the doors, reluctant to approach the center. A ten foot bronze bar lay on the ground- it had been barring the door and was the source of the clang. Slowly, we grew bold enough to examine the room. There were two altars, and the second contained a pool of blue water. In the center stood a great anvil. None of us dared to touch or even approach the items of this…temple, it seemed. A Temple of Fire and Water.

Some of us called out for Timmy, not expecting a reply, but we all fell silent when we heard pattering footsteps. Ahead, he must be ahead of us! Why had he not replied? Of course we would follow, and in agreement we circled the temple. Weapons unsheathed around me and I rolled my eyes- what were they going to do, threaten the boy to safety?

At the rear of the room we discovered an alcove hidden from first sight, and behind it two doors. Both were of the same bronze workmanship as before, but they depicted very different subjects. One was a scene of fire and the other, water. Our group, all strangers, spent some time deliberating over the next step. Water or Fire? Should we touch the doors first? Which would a young boy choose? 

Water it was, but when we opened the door we saw only a clean, wet corridor. Our calls for the boy were met with silence. We could go on, but what if the boy were just inside the other door? We had heard him minutes ago. We were not all on the same page, to put it mildly, and I felt girlish frustration rise in me but I bit my tongue and let them argue. I saw the face of our sixth member, a fine-featured ranger whose longbow might have been taller than me. I heard someone call him Walagorn. What a handsome man, with bright eyes! I decided I liked him. 

When the group finally agreed to try the Fire door before proceeding on, I was relieved. Why were they so cautious? It’s just a well with some old structures. Nothing to be afraid of. Beside me, Viertes drew his greatsword expectantly. 

In the next room, we saw our first signs of the people of this old temple- Dwarves! Suits of Dwarven armor stood in each corner, rusted stiff with long pole-axes in the air. There were four, and two doors leaving the room on the far side. I was fascinated with their style and wished I could sketch one before moving on. Viertes immediately knocked on one, sizing up the make and equipment, but all seemed rusted and worthless. We crowded the small room. It was warmer and dryer in here than the well, and the heat irritated me. 

“Let’s go, guys!” I said, “It’s just a room. Let’s keep moving!”

Vasellia moved for one of the doors, and instantly an booming voice said “HALT!” It had come from the armor. She moved again- “HALT!” We turned, backs to the door, as two of the suits stepped forward and lowered their axes in aggressive display.


	4. Don’t Bring a Greatsword to an Axe Fight, or something

Being accosted by axe-wielding suits of armor can really make you feel like the walls are closing in. Why hadn’t I noticed the low ceiling before? The room seemed to shrink and pulse with heat and all I could hear was my heartbeat. I’m no fighter. I wear the weapons at my hip because they were precious gifts. I use the dagger to cut my bread. And hey, they also keep overly-eager incels at a healthy distance after I perform. 

If it seemed an eternity before the first blow, the following battle moved by in an instant. The third and fourth suits didn’t seem to be a threat. One was dead as before and the other seemed to creak and fail in spurts. But two were more than enough. The low ceiling was a problem, and we were entirely too close to one another as poleaxes were met with mace and sword. We despaired as a group when Walagorn’s well-aimed blow had no effect on the unnatural enemy. An avenging poleaxe came down hard across his chest and I realized I could do more than stand trembling. I could heal! I pulled my instrument to my chest and began to play. 

Walagorn recovered, and Vasellia ran through a door into the next room. I followed with Seamus. It was too crowded to fight and I was only taking up space. I played a song of strength and hoped Walagorn, Aramil, and Viertes would prevail. 

Aramil’s voice rose in chant, seconds later faltering as if he’d forgotten the words. Viertes raised his sword and struck the ceiling, unable to maneuver in the small room. I watched as Seamus ran back in, his staff glowing with power, but his mighty blow only stopped the metal hulk for a moment. The poleaxe swung around and I shut my eyes but he used his staff to tilt the axe aside at the last moment. 

Then a sound of crackling filled the air, and purple arcs from Vasellia’s hands shot through the door, destroying one of the strange guardians. We all cheered with renewed hope, and I poured my soul into more bolstering music. As I finished my song, we were victorious. Stunned and limping, the men stepped over the crumpled armor to join us.


	5. Hello, Sweetie!

We sat, weary, on benches that lined the walls of an empty room. Bronze doors were visible in the lantern light, but they stood closed and we were exhausted. Aramil passed the time explaining his fumble, almost to himself, for he was not accustomed to using magic aggressively. Then quiet fell on us as we rallied, and we tried the door on the left. Inside we saw a hallway with four doors in a row on the right wall. Ok, close the door. We tried the other. 

In this door was another hall, and Aramil walked inside far enough to see a single exit on the far side. Viertes rubbed his hands together with excitement at each new door, spoils for his effort, if he could get them to the surface. 

We broke our silence as we backtracked and entered the first door once more, and stood in a line facing four small doors on one wall. This was a strange place. Were these closets? We knew they could not be deep because we had been on the other side. We tried them, one by one. Empty. Empty. Whoa, not empty. 

There on the ground, back to the entryway, was a skeleton. It’s clothes were tattered and it’s head was bare. It was also small, and it occurred to us that it was the remains of a dwarf. We saw a dust-covered puddle of cooled candle wax in front of the bones, but nothing else. We backed out of the entryway and were pushing the door closed when we heard it. 

“What? What are you doing here?”

Viertes was in the doorway in a heartbeat, greatsword drawn. He struck an imposing figure and the skeleton- for that was the source of the voice- recoiled in fear. Viertes tried to close the door. 

“Don’t go!” The skeleton turned to us and spoke in a squawk. “Don’t leave me here, all alone.” Aramil and Seamus, who had almost moved on to the fourth door, jolted to ready as we swung the door open again and backed up. I felt like I was dreaming. How was it speaking? We could see through it’s ribs. This was not a living creature. I shook myself out of my head and listened to the words still pouring out of the bones. 

“The Master put me here. Oh, I shouldn’t have stolen those lemon cakes, but they were so good.” 

This was no axe wielding suit of armor. It seemed sweet and confused. We began, insane as it sounds, to interrogate the poor thing. Why was it here? What was this place? We gleaned, through much rambling, that this poor dwarf was an acolyte in the temple. When he was caught stealing lemon cakes from the refectory, he had been sent to this meditation chamber as penance. His Master, he said, had not yet returned. 

I haven’t seen many skeletons - my village burned its dead. You could not have told me yesterday that today I’d listen with interest as one prattled on about lemon cake, but today was full of surprises. 

“What is your name?” Vasellia asked, crouching down in front of the bones in the tiny room. 

“My name you ask? My name? Oh, I have been here so long, I don’t remember it.”

If I recount every word of the long conversation we had with this creature, which we decided to call Sweetie, we will all become skeletons. I will sum up: he seemed highly motivated at the thought of finding some lemon cakes. He had no knowledge of Timmy or a cat. And he was in such a decayed state that he couldn’t rise or walk. We decided to bring him with us as a guide. 

It took some convincing, but Viertes finally agreed to carry Sweetie on his back using my purple silk scarf as a sling. We checked the fourth door before we left- empty- and walked back towards the scene of our battle with the enchanted armor. The moment that Sweetie saw the broken suits, he panicked. 

“Oh no, invaders! We have invaders! What will become of the temple? The altar? The holy relics?”

All six of us instantly and silently agreed we would not tell Sweetie about our battle. I didn't like deceiving the pile of bones but it was the only way. We might need him. And all of us had heard him say ‘holy relics’. 

“Where is the altar, Sweetie?”


	6. Raise the Altar

Sweetie guided us back and this time we continued right though the empty hallway. Moving quickly with guidance, we entered the altar room. It was domed and a ring of pillars reached the ceiling. I counted them: 16.

Sweetie became agitated and continued his Master and lemon cake drivel, but we got him back on track as we walked around the circle of pillars. In one corner there was a supply of coal, in another, wood. A third stash had glass flasks containing clear liquid. The centerpiece was a round dais that seemed too humble for the room. 

“Raise the Altar! Raise the Altar!” Sweetie exclaimed, mad with excitement. “The Masters knew how. If only I had listened… but I was such a poor student. Always bored and sneaking off to the refectory for lemon cakes.”

“How do we raise the altar?” we asked, the first of a series of questions that Sweetie seemed to have few answers to. It seemed we’d found the least helpful enchanted skeleton imaginable. 

“Light the fire! Yes, a big fire.”

We didn’t hesitate. Walagorn and Seamus gathered the coal and wood while Aramil broke the flasks of oil over the pile that grew on the center platform. Stepping back, they lit the fire. 

It exploded into a great bonfire, but that was all. As the smoke rose, we noticed that the air remained clear in the room, and at the apex of the ceiling a large brown gem was set. It must have been 30 feet above us. 

I sat down with Sweetie at the edge of the circle. I was beginning to get hungry with all his talk of  
lemon cakes. I reassured him that we would search for cakes after we checked on the relics, laughing inwardly at the thought of cakes as old as his bones. “What else do you know about the altar, Sweetie?”

“The alignment! That’s what the Masters always said. Something about the alignment.” Sweetie’s bony hand gestured to a nearby pillar, and we noticed a hole at chest height. We had missed them before, but they all had them. If only we had something for leverage...

Viertes with his crowbar and Seamus with his quarterstaff prepared to try turning the pillars. They turned, but it took time to work them all into the same position. It made sense to try facing the holes toward the fire first. 

Just as the last pillar settled into position, there was a deep rumbling and the dais rose from the ground, the fire still blazing upon it. The dust settled and we saw the altar’s base was ringed in small, empty shelves carved into the stone. 

“Oh no, oh no, what will the Masters say?” Sweetie wailed and hid his skull in bony hands. “The holy relics, gone!”

We walked around the altar, Viertes carrying Sweetie once more, and on the back side there was one shelf that wasn’t empty. A wooden tool lay on its side, plain but oddly shaped. Sweetie brightened at the sight. “The Rod of Fire!” Vasellia reached for it but Sweetie shrieked, “No, you mustn’t take it! It must remain on the altar!”

You’d think a dwarf skeleton named Sweetie would be more gullible, but none of us could convince him that us taking the relic would best protect it. Vasellia wasted no time changing direction, “Okay Sweetie, you’re right. We’ll leave it.” As Viertes walked with Sweetie out of the Hall, Vasellia tucked the relic into her pack.


	7. No Lemon Cakes

We had to remember why we were down here: Timmy and perhaps a cat. So far we had found nothing but trouble and a wooden rod, unless you counted Sweetie, who was still carrying on about lemon cakes. We decided the refectory, which Sweetie said he could lead us to, was as good a next destination as any. But when we walked through the fire chamber door Sweetie’s skull slumped lifeless onto Viertes’ back. He was dead… or something. We walked back into the previous room and he awoke mid sentence extolling lemony goodness. Through the door once more and it happened again. Huh. 

Oh, well. Maybe once we got the to refectory he would wake up again. It would be a shame to leave him if we needed him later. Viertes shifted the ‘dead’ weight and we crossed the watery entry in search of lemon cakes. 

The twin bronze doors south of the well-spring led to a single corridor, and we walked inside before stopping to plan our search. We decided to be methodical and leave nothing behind us uncleared- an idea I would have laughed at before the suits of armor tried to take us out. This wasn’t just a well anymore. 

Down a short hall, we came upon a room with a rough pool- empty- built into the floor. It was a bathing chamber. We skirted the pool to a northerly door. The oily smell that escaped when we opened it was explained by a stash of coal on one wall. The other wall held a pair of large copper kettles that were surprisingly untarnished and clean. We looked around, worried we were not alone here. Peering into a kettle we discovered eggshells as if some brood of creatures had hatched there. None of us had seen anything like it before. 

We returned to the bathing chamber where we decided it was time to rest. Vasellia found a spot in the corner and I watched her take out the wooden relic and examine it closely. The rest of us shared provisions and spoke about the things we had seen and what they might mean. Sweetie was still ‘dead’, a bony bundle wrapped in purple silk. I was thinking of writing him into a song.

Soon we mustered our courage and began to gather our things. Vasellia approached, holding the relic, and explained she’d had a working dinner. Meditating on the wooden device while she rested, a strange word had come to her mind, and she felt that it was the key to the relic’s power. The word, she shared, was Derp. The group gasped at her discovery. She was attuned to The Rod of Fire. 

There was nowhere to go but back, so we left the bath by a second exit and explored a series of empty chambers without incident. The walls were beautifully tiled here and and I wished I knew the stories the mosaics told. It seemed this part of the temple was for guests- pilgrims, I suppose. We discovered a series of dorms with beds and trunks, all decayed, and a crumbling privy, but the end of the hall was barred with rubble. 

One of the doors was blocked by only a few large stones and it didn’t take long to move them. Viertes’ sword at the ready as always, we entered a dorm with 4 beds. These seemed to be fancy quarters with once fine wall hangings and bedding in dusty shreds. Against the wall in a row were three Sweeties. 

The Dwarf skeletons leaned against the wall, lifeless. A rusted dagger pointed upwards through each skull, and the tatters of their clothes suggested finery. Had they killed themselves? 

As Aramil rummaged through the trunks at the foot of each bed, pocketing silver from one, Viertes tugged at a dagger. The hilt crumbled in his hand but he managed to shift the blade loose and examine it in the lantern light. It was cold and heavier than it looked, and Viertes seemed pleased to finally have some loot he could carry. 

I kept looking back at the triad of skeletons, expecting one to speak, but they remained lifeless and still. Seamus and Walagorn set about searching a trunk, this one full of old clothing and a book that broke into shreds when they opened it. I joined them, recalling the words to a mending song, but it was beyond my ability and my magic only seemed to make it worse. Pity. It might have shed light on the gruesome scene.


	8. Shut the Door

There was nothing for it but to move more stones. I felt bad suggesting it, seeing as I couldn’t have lifted one if I tried. You don’t need brawn to play ballads, and my lithe figure was keeping me fed in the culturally bankrupt town above us. I sat back and watched them work, particularly Walagorn. He might not have been the strongest among them but he stood out as the bravest and - sigh- the most handsome. They’d probably get annoyed if I took out my lute and played a few bars in his honor…

At last, the door was cleared and Seamus opened it easily. He beckoned to us to follow him, but suddenly his face contorted in the dim light as a spear from the blackness pierced his shoulder. 

The smell that overwhelmed us then still clouds my memory. It was thick, toxic, and made each breath painful. The black rectangle of the empty door gave birth to a reptilian form, the spear-bearer, which I recognized from the old tales as a troglodyte. The songs do not adequately revile the stench of this monster, I thought, as more of them streamed through the door where Seamus knelt, pulling at the spear. 

They were upright creatures with long arms that ended in clawed hands, and slimy secretions slipped from their large mouths where sharp fangs were visible. Their eyes were small. Foul breath flared their nostrils as they continued their assault upon us. 

Seamus, already seriously wounded, was knocked to the ground in a broken heap before we could intervene. Walagorn struck with sword in hand, and Aramil his mace, but the beasts were too strong. Another one crouched at the doorway, unable to push past its grotesque companions. As absurd as it felt, I knew my music could help them, so I swung my lute around and played, refusing to succumb to the fear and stench. Viertes swung his greatsword and cut a monster in half from forehead to tail, it’s hot blood reeking as it sprayed. Aramil choked, stumbling backwards, but landed a blow with his mace as he recovered. 

“Shut the Door!” 

I'm not sure who yelled but we were all thinking it, and my view was poor as the door swung closed on the steely claws of the waiting trog. Vasellia was standing in the center of the fray, hands at her side, concentrating. I half-hoped she would incinerate them all with the Fire Rod, but perhaps the middle of a slaughter wasn’t the best place to try out a new magical weapon. She raised her head just as we all saw the door swing back open, the creature within snarling and clawing forward. The troglodyte prepared to strike, but Vasellia cast a purple cloud into the air which settled on each of the three monsters like a mist, and with blood still in the air from the battle, they fell asleep.

I finished my song as my companions cut the throats of the sleeping troglodytes, and I shared their pride at the victory. This was my first real battle, with blood and all, because the armor suits seemed almost unreal. I helped roll stones to block the door, embracing a cold realization: I would have to sharpen the weapons I wore. There were monsters that needed killing. 

Seamus was alive, but only just so. My magic couldn’t heal him. I called to Aramil when the doors were secured and he came, helping me prop the Druid against the wall before chanting a spell in a foreign language. I heard his ragged breathing ease up and his countenance softened. He would survive with rest. Walagorn, too, was wounded badly. I tried to hide my shaking hands as I bandaged his arm. 

We made camp in the reeking room. Walagorn and Seamus were out cold, but Viertes and Aramil spoke in hushed voices, occasionally checking the door and shifting the stones to be sure. Vasellia and I brought out our bedrolls, Sweetie between us in a bundle, as far from the fallen reptiles as possible. 

I dreamt I was chasing a cat through a maze of tunnels, Sweetie at my side.


	9. Night’s Watch, and What’s Next?

While I slept, others stood watch. No one had asked me to take a turn, but I felt a tinge of guilt when I woke- refreshed- and heard the events of the night. Vasellia had heard noises from behind the door during her watch, and Walagorn and Viertes had both awoken to the sound of her adding more stone to the pile blocking the door. They explained their nighttime deliberations over whether or not to open the door and check it out, bickering even as they told us. I felt outrage and then relief wash over me as they reached the part where they decided to wait until morning. Open the door?! While the rest of us slept there? With Seamus recovering from the very brink of death? 

By the time we were all moving around and ready to go, there was a consensus to search behind the troglodyte door. We threw a plan together - probably our first such thing- and the door swung open, almost propelled by the weight of the stench behind it. It wasn’t just the beasts that stank. The room was covered, piled in some places, in bones and rotted flesh. There were heaps of rubbish here and there amid the remains. For a moment we scoured with our eyes for human- perhaps childlike- bones, and we were relieved not to find any. We stepped with care here, avoiding foul liquid and worse, until our torches lit the back wall to reveal a broken gap in the stonework. This must be where they came from, I thought, and who knows who piled the boulders to bar their path? We all thought better of our search here and left, rolling extra boulders against the door for good measure. 

What time was it, anyway? We returned to the well-bottom and saw daylight above. I couldn’t help but think of our first minutes down here and how much- and how little- I had learned about my companions since. Viertes stood by the staircases with his gleaming eyes. He was as strong as he was impulsive. Seamus stood with him, youthful behind his serious face. Vasellia was next to me, half-smiling in the dim light, as strange to me as ever but somehow solid. Aramil, who seemed to always be on guard, was inspecting the floor near the great doors. I trusted him. Perhaps I could relate to his discomfort in battle. And Walagorn, who called us over even as my thoughts turned to him-

“Look, here, muddy tracks through the door. Maybe 3 or 4 sets. Fresh, too- not ours.”

We were not alone down here.


	10. Holy Fire

We were all pleasantly surprised when our calls upward were returned.

“Hello up there! Is anyone about?”  
“Whoa- well, hello, have you found the boy at last?”  
“No, not yet, but we haven’t lost hope.” 

Our voices echoed up the well as we discussed some of what we had seen and pried the men above for information about the footprints. They told us a group of four caravan guards had come down an hour back in response to a reward Timmy’s father had offered. This explained the trail to the temple but also filled my mind with dread. I knew, despite my limited experience, that heavily armed men would be fighting over that reward before too long.

A day’s rations came down in one of the buckets, wrapped in coarse cloth. The meal was very welcome. We sat at the entrance to one of the hewn fireplaces and ate silently. The stones were still black from ancient fires, and I imagined them roaring heat into the hall as priests and pilgrims came to and fro. Many people had enjoyed this hall under better circumstances. Had there been music?  
We agreed to follow the caravan guards’ tracks, but Vasellia thought it wise to set Sweetie down on our way, somewhere safe but not within the reach of the magic that animated him. I convinced Viertes to walk him into range so he could speak to us one more time before we left him, and I am glad I did. When Vasellia asked if Sweetie had seen anyone strange about the Temple, he first answered no, but then he seemed to remember and told us that he had indeed seen a strange man here, shortly before his isolation over stolen cake. Sweetie described an angry, fearsome man with a red beard that had appeared in the alcove as if out of thin air, “...speaking of enemies...” He began to rant a bit about the audacity of a strange visitor to this sacred part of the temple, “...The Fire and Water priests never cross over here, and no outsider is allowed within, everyone knows this! Only in the rituals can they come together. Fire and Water, they work together...to craft great artifacts…”

We exchanged interested looks and Viertes walked Sweetie through the door. He fell instantly silent, and we knew he would continue mid-ramble if Viertes stepped backwards. I’d miss Sweetie, and I pledged to return for him soon as we walked away from his dusty bones, now resting against a corner of the alcove.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the wall here before, but when I joined the group facing it I was moved by its beauty and scale. It was covered floor to ceiling in a mosaic depicting flames and waves meeting in a dramatic flourish. The colors were dulled with a coating of age. Walagorn held the lantern closer, revealing footprints on the floor. They were small and they led into the muraled wall as if their maker had walked right through it. I turned to Vasellia and mouthed, “Timmy?” as the men laid hands on the wall, searching for a hidden switch. A deep sigh of stone filled the alcove as a door opened inward to a dark hallway.

We huddled at the threshold, craning our necks to see within. It was a clean hallway– remarkably so–which allowed us to finally see the true colors of the tile-work in the temple. The floor was laid in fiery orange and mysterious azure squares, checkered and returning the flicker of our torches. Our silence was broken by the clatter of a small stone Viertes tossed into the doorway. Then, nothing. It seemed to be an empty hall, and it was our best bet for finding the boy, but we had learned a mighty lesson about small rooms with low ceilings. Viertes and Walagorn decided to go in first, with ropes about their waists held fast by those who remained. We were not sure how the door worked and didn’t want end up separated.

The two men stepped inside the hall and the lights they bore revealed more tiles and the far door some 20 feet ahead. I stood at the entrance, shifting my pack in readiness, for I was next in line to cross the hall. I began to step-

Fire. The air was fire and heat so intense it forced us back and we fell as a group outside the doorway, tumbling over each other to the sound of screams. Walagorn! Viertes! They were the screams of our companions.

I let my pack and lute fall to the ground beside me as I scrambled to my feet, thinking of nothing and no one but Walagorn. The fire was gone and only smoke remained. It rose in sizzling puffs from the bodies of the two men as they lay stretched across the vivid tile. The air was thick with the smell of burned hair and they did not move.


	11. The Innkeeper’s Boy

“Don’t move!”

I heard Aramil’s voice as if distant. I couldn’t see past his form in the entryway. With his elves’ eyes I knew he could see within, and I realized I was holding my breath, listening for a reply from Viertes or Walagorn. If Aramil was telling them not to move, they must be alive, let them be alive. I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms and peered over Aramil’s shoulder.

Walagorn lay closest, face down and still. Viertes’ long form stretched into the fuzzy darkness of the hall. I heard Aramil’s healing words but wasn’t sure who he was directing them towards. My eyes followed the ropes from the doorway to their burned ends- there would be no dragging the men back. Seamus directed us to look upwards and four of us crowded into the doorway with a torch. The ceiling was nondescript with the exception of two rows of small holes, blackened around the edges from the fire they had just rained unto our friends. The torchlight showed us something else, too, and Vasellia held her arm across our chests at the doorway, pulling us back as she explained her theory. Once we started examining the tiles it became obvious. Some of the tiles were well-worn and formed a curving swath across the floor, and the rest were perfect as if untouched by a single footstep. The checkered colors had distracted us from this, I suppose, and when Viertes stepped inside he had strayed from the path.

I kept looking up, worried, at the still form in front of us. My heart skipped beats when I saw Walagorn’s elbow tilt as he tried to push himself up from the floor. A chorus of “Don’t move! Lay still where you are!” came from all of us, mine more relieved than I can say. Seamus spoke his healing spell and I stepped away from the door, finally breathing. I swung my lute ‘round and fingered a silent tune with my back against the cold tiles.

When Viertes and Walagorn were ready, they tested our theory by rising to foot on some of the scuffed tiles. Nothing happened. Vasellia beckoned to me, and we all crossed the hall on a well-worn path I still can’t believe we didn’t notice from the start. 

The door on the far side of the hall was different from any other we’d seen. It was made of richly oiled wood with several bronze bands shining in the torchlight. It opened to a dark chamber with a large raised stone structure in the center. Walking inside, our torches lit back on the chamber and we all saw the boy at once. In the corner, asleep, was Timmy. He stirred and rubbed his eyes, looking at us blankly.

Viertes reached him in two strides but the child shrank back and cried out. Viertes was always an intimidating sight, but with all his hair burned off it was no wonder Timmy shrank with fear. I found myself in the corner with him, kneeling. Our eyes met, he knew me, and he relaxed into whimpers. I gave him water and a bite to eat as we spoke. He explained he was simply lost and had fallen asleep. What to do but bring him home? I lifted him- not easily- and we bore him out of the chamber. This boy had a loving father to return to, a warm home. I realized as I struggled to keep my balance with his small body in my arms that his return meant a great deal to me.

Viertes and I were first out of the alcove with the others following. I bumped into his large back as we stopped short, suddenly surrounded by the company of well-armored men, their weapons rising in unison as they sized us up. My feet wobbled underneath me as I instinctively turned my body- and Timmy- away from them, bracing my shoulder on the nearby wall for balance. Rhaich! What were we going to do? 

They had dark hair and rough faces that I found familiar though it was unlikely I had met these particular guards before. There was always a table of these louses at the tavern: too loud, too drunk, too close for comfort. Walagorn and Viertes, charred though they were, took positions in front of our group as the silence was broken by a guard. 

“Ho, there! I see you’ve found the boy. Let’s have him!”


	12. The Surface

I held a wooden mug in two hands and listened to Aramil and Viertes’ animated bickering. They were still arguing over the fate of the guards we’d encountered only an hour ago. We hadn’t fought them, thank the Gods–and all had worked out in the end–but to hear Viertes tell it that had been a grave mistake. In short, Vasellia put them all to sleep and we tied them up in the row of closets where we’d once found Sweetie. We searched them–taking anything of value- this seemed to please Viertes. He had donned a conical helm one of them had worn, covering his burned scalp, and it was now sitting beside him on the bench. I myself had picked up a small crossbow and … something else. I unrolled the parchment under the table. It was a rather skillful erotic drawing of a girl in just enough costume to suggest barmaid. I rolled it up again, smiling. We were above ground, Timmy was home, and the guards had been dealt with by the Innkeeper’s men. We had explained their insistence that they take Timmy for the reward and our reluctance to trust him to others. The man was overcome with joy at his son’s return and showered us with thanks, provisions, and gold. In fact I now had more money in my purse than I’d ever possessed. 

I pulled my knees to my chest in the large tavern chair. Money isn’t something I had worried much about since I ran away. I only needed enough to feed myself and keep my instrument in order. I had been traveling from inn to inn as a performer, living off my lute... that now felt like a complete waste of time. How many nights had I slept, unknowing, above an ancient temple full of dangers?

I was shaken out of my thoughts by a chorus of cheers from the bar. Timmy’s father raised a tankard in our direction and beamed. My companions were discussing their plans for tomorrow. I was surprised to hear they were all planning to return to the temple. I figured Viertes would return for the bronze doors if nothing else, but Aramil and Seamus? What could draw them back down? Even as I wondered this it dawned on me that I wanted to go with them. For Walagorn? He hardly looked at me. No, for something more. I couldn’t wait on a stage for my destiny any longer. 

We all woke early despite the evening of food and drink. We gathered on the front steps of the Inn and exchanged silent greetings. It didn’t seem to matter that we were strangers two days ago. We had faced dangers together and we were going back for more. 

One by one we slid down the ropes into the well. Vasellia held up her lantern calling, “Here Kitty, Kitty!” and we all laughed, our voices ringing through the hall as if we owned the place. We moved as one through the temple straight back to the room where we’d found Timmy and started to look around. 

We hadn’t searched this room before, preoccupied as we were with the boy. The raised stone tableau in the center turned out to be a beautiful map laid down in tile and mortar. Walagorn found us on it immediately, extrapolating from the formations of rivers and mountains. The town- or this temple, I suppose- was marked with a gold circle like a coin set into the surface. Aramil swatted Viertes’ hand away as he moved to pry the coin out with his knife.

I didn’t recognize the aerial view of the region at all. Seamus and Walagorn were touching the relief here and there, chatting about oddities including a river that no longer flowed across the land above. Vasellia unfurled a roll of parchment and copied what she saw. There were several inset coins marking locations other than ours, and of these many were crossed out with dark Xs. In a matter of minutes she had made a faithful representation and rolled up the parchment, tucked it away, and moved on in her search of the room. She came to stand by me and we both faced a bronze plate in a corner of the room. It was etched with complex runes that seemed Dwarvish but were too archaic for any of us to read. Again, Vasellia took out some parchment, this time making a rubbing. I felt like a kid again, paging through Teacher’s old books. There were so many questions on my tongue and no answers.


	13. Something Shiny

So we moved on and for a while we found nothing. There were dorms again and some held small knick knack reminders of the people who lived here: a collection of smooth stones, a hand carved figure of an animal, a pair of dice. These I claimed, mended, and placed in my leather purse. 

At the end of the dormitory was a small door and within it, a privy. We’d seen one like this earlier, a necessary room in any living space. Viertes barely fit within as he bent to look down the hole. 

“What are you looking for down there?” Walagorn called, weary with the man. 

“Hold up, hold up. I see something. Come, look!” The group exchanged grins and took turns looking. 

There really was something shining in the darkness. It could've been anything, and there wasn’t an easy way to shed more light on the subject. Before we could discuss it, though, Viertes had his rope about him and lifted the seat off the bench. He asked someone to hold his rope and jumped. 

What had just happened? Was Viertes mad? We held the rope against his weight as he swung, head-down, in the toilet. He called up to us for more light. I wasn’t much help with the rope so I scuttled to the edge and cast light on his helm as he was lowered into the pit. He called to be lower, lower, he saw something- and then howled in pain as part of the wall reached out to strike him in blurred motion. Walagorn set his feet against Viertes’ weight and bade Seamus join me to see what was happening below. 

“He’s found an Ooze.” the Druid said wryly. 

Viertes held the rope with hand and thigh and waved his longsword with one free hand, making the job of holding his rope significantly harder. He hit the thing once or twice but didn’t have much leverage. I was covering my mouth to stifle laughter when we hauled him up at last. He reached into his pocket and his hand emerged gripping a handful of filthy coins retrieved from the bottom of the pit. As he stood to sheathe his sword he noticed the length of the blade was corroded and dull. I stayed silent amid the half-concerned, half exasperated jeers from the others. I knew he was single-minded… I guess I just didn’t know how far he’d go for gold. 

Aramil finished a long diatribe directed at the disheveled fighter and returned to the privy. There was a flash of light and he turned back to us with satisfaction. The ooze was dead. 

It was some time before we relaxed back into our search of this side of the temple. Our awkward silence became gasps of wonder when we entered a room covered in dazzling mosaics. These depicted the forms of priests and acolytes surrounding an aqueous form, perhaps a deity. It seemed we’d found the ‘Water Priests’ Sweetie had mentioned. As if not to be outdone by the previous room, the next was stunningly beautiful in its simplicity. A vaguely human statue stood in the back of the room in a pool of water. Water flowed from the statue’s limbs in rivulets that rained in pleasant symphony. A fountain. I was about to toss a coin for luck but the image of Viertes diving after it changed my mind.


	14. What’s in the Broom Closet? or, On Second Thought, Let’s Not All Look in the Broom Closet at the Same Time

The majesty of the water altar, as I decided to think of it, was left behind as we explored an attached hall. I knew it immediately as a dining hall replete with tables, chairs, and a stage for oration. The ceiling above us was made of blue glazed tiles which reflected our torches like sunlight through waves. If we’d had time to rest, I thought, I’d stand on that stage and perform the song I’d written for Sweetie. Or the song I’d written for Walagorn…

But we did not rest. In retrospect, we had let our guard down again and were charging through doors as if we were sizing the place up for purchase. Still, we would have come upon the following room eventually and I am still alive to write this, so all is well that ends well.

It is difficult for me to get the details of the room we found ourselves in right. There were pools- deep pools- of water in raised stone reservoirs coming up from the floor; three of them. Fungi grew from the stone on great blossoming stalks. The smell was pleasant, peaceful, and clean. Steam rose from one pool while another was still and cold. There was no evidence of their purpose, but at the bottom of each lay a cylindrical object. Aramil reached into the water after one before the biting cold forced him to withdraw his hand. No luck- and by his face I could tell he would not recommend us trying again. Vasellia had been trying the hot pool simultaneously with similar results, so we turned to a door in the far wall, which seemed upon opening to be a broom closet. 

Anyone could see from a distance that it held the decayed ruins of mops or brooms, a shelf of unrecognizably decrepit items, and nothing else. Oh, right, that’s my hindsight talking again. We all crowded forward and sifted through, our backs to the pools as we did so, not a care in the world. And this is how we were surprise attacked by the gargantuan mushrooms we had walked blithely past moments earlier. 

The monsters struck with long ganglia that must have come from within their bodies. They lashed at us from from behind with these, and they waved them hypnotically as we stumbled to our feet and drew weapons, facing our foes. We had dropped our torches and their light cast massive silhouettes to the ceiling, only adding to the confusion of the battle. I recall very little: Vasellia’s sleep spell had no effect, my crossbow bolt hit (sinking and disappearing into the body of one creature), Viertes fell. Seamus’s quarterstaff waved in an exaggerated shadow above me. Walagorn cried out, dropping his sword, and Aramil’s voice rose in the room, chanting a spell. I saw flashes of sword and mace, heard their sickening sounds against wet flesh. I moved back against the side of the warm pool and played, feeling foolish but determined to help in whatever way I could. 

We cleaned and stowed our weapons in the aftermath, our bodies and abilities exhausted. We did not speak as we stumbled and limped back into the dining hall which became our refuge, and slept.


	15. Weird

I woke to the quiet voices of Seamus and Aramil. Joining them around a nearby table, I gathered that only a few hours had passed. Someone’s fingers had drawn a rough map of the nearby rooms in the dust. By the time we had all risen, Vasellia had convinced us to return to the water altar for one last look around before leaving this wing of the temple. Leaving sounded good to me. Yes, leaving. I needed more sleep, hot food, and a bath. 

Viertes walked right up to the water’s edge. He dipped his hand to the pool as if to drink and the water rose to touch him back, pushing him away. That was unexpected. I took out the gold piece after all, made a wish, and tossed it in. The water held the coin above its surface, still, then tossed it back at me. The whole effect of the room was dreamlike. Seamus and Vasellia walked in front of the statue and attempted to greet it. Nothing. I suddenly felt we should go. It was not a feeling of danger, but of reverence. This place was not for us. 

“Let’s go. We should go.”

I was not alone. Aramil agreed at once, then Seamus. But Vasellia gasped delightedly and pointed into the pool where water-distorted shadows suggested something lay. She spoke and a ghostly purple hand appeared in magical apparition before her. It quickly bolted into the water. I stepped closer and saw that there were actually three items in the pool: a wooden rod, a bottle, and a ring. Her magical hand had entered the water and tried for each item in turn. When it touched the ring the water boiled up, but instead of pouring over the pool’s edge it waited in the air, as if time had stopped. Her real hand slipped her pack of her shoulder and fumbled to open it, her gaze still on the pool’s contents. She brought out the Rod of Fire, held it aloft and whispered the Word. 

The end of the Rod bust into a quiet flame and flickered. That was all. Just a pleasant orange flame at the end of a stick. 

I looked at the men around me. Viertes’ greatsword was drawn as usual. Walagorn had one hand on his bow and another touching the fletched tip of an arrow behind his shoulder. Seamus held his hands up in the air in disbelief. 

“Put that thing away and let us leave this place!” Aramil commanded, to no avail. 

Vasellia’s eyes shone wildly in the orange light. In that moment, I realized I knew nothing about her. Her mage hand reached again, and the water answered, rising into the room and engulfing Vasellia whole. It pulled her- her expression one of shock within the water- and dragged her half into the pool, half out, flailing and kicking. A watery form rose above Vasellia and faced us as if daring us to reclaim our companion. 

“We should leave her!” I’m not sure who said it. We knew we only had minutes. I rushed forward to pull Vasellia above the water, nearly joining her before I realized it was no use. Then Viertes tried with all his strength. The water’s grasp was impossibly solid while Walagorn’s arrows struck and glanced off the stones of the ancient wall behind it. Aramil charged with his mace and was struck down from the side by a massive limb of water that left him sprawled on the stone and reeling in pain. The loud clang of Viertes’ sword filled the room as he struck the statue in desperation. This had no effect on the creature but to draw its ire, giving Aramil his chance. He leapt up from the stone floor and swung his mace. The blow struck and rippled through the water in concentric waves. Aramil’s success renewed our collective efforts. Seamus and Viertes timed their strikes and after what seemed like much too long for poor Vasellia the creature fell as rain into the pool as if it had never been. 

Seamus pulled Vasellia out of the pool and laid her on the floor where her limp form became wracked with coughs and sputters as her breath returned. Second later she regained her senses and scrambled to the pool’s edge to retrieve the items that had nearly cost us dearly. What had appeared to be a stick looked now like a cousin artifact to the Rod of Fire. The bottle was smaller than it had appeared to be, a corked glass vial of clear liquid. The ring was plain and dark. 

I wrung puddles from my thick linen skirt and watched Vasellia with mixed feelings. Friend or Stranger, it was good that she was alive. We could not have walked away, but the trust our mutual search for Timmy had fostered was damaged. At first afraid of Vasellia, I had grown quickly familiar...maybe too comfortable with her.

Aramil, Seamus, and Walagorn whispered in a crouched triad. Viertes examined the ring in the lantern light for long minutes, lost in thought. What were we doing here, together, and for what purpose? I strummed cold strings and sang an old poem:

 

Wanderer, who are you?   
I see you go your way without scorn, without love, with unfathomable eyes;  
moist and sad as a sounding-lead that has returned to the light   
unsated from every depth -   
what did it seek down there?

with a breast that does not sigh,   
with a lip that hides its disgust,   
with a hand which now reaches out but slowly:   
who are you?   
what have you done?


	16. Gifts

I woke from a long, cold sleep with stiff limbs and the fleeting memory of a dream. The damp temple had crept into my bones and every fold of my clothing, and I was worried about the moisture’s effect on my lute. There was a collective sigh of relief when we left the hall, a rough plan in place to retrace our steps and explore the last rooms we’d skipped after our battle with the troglodytes. There remained two things I wanted to do: to look at that plaque again and to see Sweetie. 

The plaque was just as before, a dusty bronze engraving in the corner of the room. But I was different. It felt like my dreams had unearthed old- or was it new?- knowledge, and I was not surprised when I crossed the room and could read the script. It felt right.

We cast these words in bronze so that our memory does not fade like iron. The enemy has taken us. We were able to seal our wells, but we are lost. We will cleanse ourselves with fire and hope that those who remain can finish the work. Then it will be up to those who follow. Our time is short. Good fortune.

So that is what happened to the priests here. The words left us with more questions than answers, so we moved on from room to room, finding very little but fungus and rot. I was pleased to find a small teacup completely unscathed in a cabinet. A tiny beautiful thing in this dark tomb, I tucked it carefully into my pack.

We found Sweetie faithfully where we left him- he was inanimate after all. Viertes carried his bones into the small meditation room we’d found him and set him down facing us. His familiar chatter about lemon cakes had resumed the second Viertes crossed the threshold of the Fire chambers, and I wasn’t the only one with a goofy smile as I listened. I knelt down in front of him and set the pair of 6-sided dice on the stone floor.

“These are for you Sweetie. To play games with. It could take us some time to find lemon cakes. And this-” I pulled the rolled parchment out and unfurled it, revealing the half-nude barmaid image I’d swiped from the caravan guards earlier, “-is also for you, if you want.” 

He eyed the parchment for a moment, inasmuch as a skeleton can ‘eye’ something. 

“Not much of beard on this one, eh?”

He seemed, for the first time, happy. We promised to return if we found lemon cakes and we walked away.


	17. Pets

We crossed under the well again and tried the doors we’d left unopened days ago. They brought us into several rooms with workbenches and the remains of tools. Viertes took some metal items he found, excited to sell them when we returned to the Tavern. One room had a great forge, empty but still dark with the memory of fire. As my companions turned away, their torches going with them, I saw something move in the bowl of the forge and jumped back, calling the others to see. It was small, keeping to the shadow of the forge’s rim, and maybe the size of a cat, but I couldn’t really make out any features. It was almost made of the darkness it hid in. But it was alive, and it seemed harmless. I wanted it badly. 

Walagorn turned to me, incredulous. 

“What? You can’t have a pet!”

I felt myself flush with childish anger and stubborness. Turning back to the forge, I called to the creature as sweetly as I could, and it crept closer. Even at this distance I couldn’t say what it was. It’s form seemed to change and flow with the shadow. I heard the others as if they were far away.

“Let’s get out of here, Dora! This is ridiculous!”

“It’s dangerous! Do you not remember the mushrooms?”

“First Viertes jumps down the toilet, now this!”

I tapped my shoulder, trying to communicate to the creature that it should join me, and to my shock it jumped at me, a black streak in the poorly lit room. But it didn’t go for my shoulder. It jumped for Walagorn’s torch and consumed the flame, instantly bringing darkness around us like a cloak. Using their better eyes, Seamus and Vasellia calmed us, letting us know the creature had jumped back into the forge. 

I had no choice but to let the others drag me out of the room and away from the mysterious thing, showering me with lectures all the while. I followed sullenly, but it was not long before we met with more small, black creatures.

I didn’t notice everyone else looking up when I first joined them in the wide room full of shelves. The torch light reflected off grimy mosaics on the walls, and when I tilted my chin upward to see what the rest were seeing, I shrank back, shocked to find myself standing under a great dark mass on the ceiling above me.

I took a few steps back to make sure I wasn’t right underneath the … whatever it was… and then I heard them. Bats! Hundreds of them. No sooner did I hear them could I smell them, and notice their filth under our feet. Seamus and Walagorn began to discuss the implications of finding the colony here. They had to get outside somehow, they figured. I suppose this is why Seamus began to whisper to the bats themselves, using his Druidic magic to communicate. I had never seen this done and I giggled nervously as he made sense of the sounds one of the animals began to make in reply. 

After some time, he turned to us and relayed what he had learned, The bats were very sleepy and not as forthcoming as they might have been otherwise, but they talked of “Big Eaters” in the temple with many legs and long bodies. They also mentioned an exit further on in this chain of rooms, and Seamus kind of creeped me out as he quoted their repetitious warning, “Legs, legs, legs, legs, legs”. Whatever that meant. 

We wove through the shelves crowding the bat den and explored the next room through an open doorway. All of these rooms were once used for food preparation and eating. This one was full of cupboards and a sink. We fanned out to explore it quickly, aiming to move on without delay. Viertes and Walagorn were to the right and left of me as I walked slowly into the next room. It was almost fun to see what the torchlight revealed in wavering glimpses of lights: old clay dishes, dusty cutting boards-

Pain. I fell to the stone floor and reached for my right calf and the source of the pain, now sitting too low in the room for the torchlight to aid me. I felt warm blood and heard unsettling sounds followed by shouts from Viertes and Walagorn. I tried to make myself small and still though I did not know what had wounded me and slick blood still flowed through my fingers. Aramil’s cloaked shadow strode through the door with his torch, the light it cast drawing huge silhouettes on the far wall. 

I watched the battle in shadow-play: gigantic creatures reared up from long torsos. More legs than anything else, I knew these were the Big Eaters we’d been warned about. The sounds around me shifted from panicked to confident as I watched a shadow arrow pierce one of the monsters on the wall. An exaggerated Viertes-shadow heaved with his great sword and Seamus’ staff filled the room with a sudden, golden light. When darkness fell again, the Eaters were dead. It was only then that I realized I was very cold and tired. I sank down to the stone and closed my eyes.


	18. Lemon Cakes & Long Rest

I woke, panicked, not aware of my surroundings. The room was different in decent light: It was a tidy kitchen covered in dust so that everything appeared to be formed of one substance. Still dreamlike, I reached out to touch a dust-covered wall in front of me and the residue fell like ash, revealing the colors of a mosaic underneath. I was in the mess hall. I reached to my calf-

“Feeling better?” Aramil’s bright eyes came into focus and I shook off the last of the dreaming. 

“Yes, I am. Is everyone alright?”

“Oh, yes. The foul creatures are dead, and we’ve blocked the passage they must have come from. We also found something you might be interested in. Take your time.”

Rubbing my eyes, I flexed my ankle and was happy to feel nothing out of the ordinary. For all their quirks, I was with good people. I wondered who had done the healing, Aramil or Seamus? As I got to my feet I saw most of my companions standing in front of an oddly shaped open door. 

I approached to happy greetings from all, and as I wove through my friends and looked into the room I didn’t understand what Aramil had meant. Vasellia was inside and turned toward me, her hands holding something small and her smile wide. It was a.. lemon cake. Absurd. Was I still dreaming? But upon closer inspection I realized it was old and dry, almost mummified. The room was a food pantry and the sealed door had kept the sugary treat intact. Sweetie was going to love this. 

We shared our rations while Seamus and Walagorn described the corridor they’d blocked. It was a rough opening to the room that I could see despite the benches stacked in front of it. The men had been able to walk for a distance inside and found that an underground river ran there, and that the damage to this room and the troglodyte hall must have been caused by high water erosion in the past. I found this all very interesting, but had no desire to see for myself. I’d already had my share of danger for the day. 

Eventually we packed up and returned to Sweetie, lemon cake in hand. I’ll never forget his gleeful smile as he took the cake and smashed into his skeletal jaws. We left him again, making our way back through the temple. We were leaving, hopefully for a long time. Would we see Sweetie again, would we understand the secrets of fire and water? 

Walagorn helped me up into a well bucket and made sure I was secure.

“How’s your leg? I haven’t used that spell before.” 

My heart melted and I blushed, but before I could reply the ropes were drawn and I rose up through the well shaft.


	19. A Night at the Inn

“A round for the guards!” Viertes’ voice boomed over the general hum of the Inn, and several men cheered and raised tankards in reply. We were topside, six adventurers around a table. I didn’t feel like one of them, having spent exponentially more days singing about adventure than the few I’d been in the company of real adventurers. 

This wasn’t a very diverse part of the country, so we were quite the sight at the Inn. Our local celebrity status- having saved the Innkeeper’s boy and all- only added to the intrigue, and I could hardly relax with the sideways glances we received as townsfolk gossiped and gawked. Vasellia probably drew the bulk of the gossip. She reclined against her chair opposite me, her purple cheeks blushing with drink, sharing what she had learned about the water rod. 

“You shouldn’t toy with such things. It could be dangerous!” Aramil scowled and looked around the table for agreement. He found very little, fresh as we all were from the temple below. Vasellia had us all wary after her dangerous dive for the magical rod, but we couldn’t hold it against her for long. She had helped us through more than one fight. 

Viertes, who sat at the head of our table, held his hand up and waved it slowly in front of us, the plain iron ring dull in the inn’s warm light. 

“I say if you’ve got it, use it! This ring is no ordinary hunk of metal. It’s like it spoke to me… and told me what it does, see? It has magic to make you breathe underwater! I’m not saying I wouldn’t sell it for the right price, though…”

Walagorn shook his head, weary with the conversation. “I wonder who will rescue you when you put that ring to the test?” His hood was back, his long hair a glistening walnut brown. He was young, far younger than I had thought, without even a glimpse of a beard, and beautiful. His fine features were highlighted in a way I had not seen before. Suddenly, he caught me staring and I quickly looked down at my hands. Nice one, Nymphadora. 

I turned to Seamus and listened in on his conversation with Vasellia. They were both feeling the night’s drinks, and Vasellia untied her pack to lift two glass bottles to the table. 

“I found a little something the cupboards down there. What do you think of these?” Walagorn stood abruptly, touching one of the bottles with his hand. “Not this one. It is poison. The other-” He touched it, in turn “is simply wine.” Vasellia drew both bottles nearer and thanked him, soberly using a bit of chalk to mark the bottles.

I thought about the tiny vial I had kept from the fountain. Should I bring it out and have cause to ask Walagorn to share his knowledge with me? It seemed too contrived. Besides, I doubt anyone would want me to keep it, inexperienced as I had proven myself to be. 

I decided to check in on Timmy and wove my way through the tables toward the back of the inn. I found him easily enough, peeling potatoes in the kitchen. He was healthy and happy to see me. That was something. I returned to the drinking hall and saw Viertes standing with a group of the caravan men, showing them the bronze items he’d scored below. I sat back down at the table but could hear their deep voices well. 

One man was called Magnus, and he seemed to be the leader. Viertes was in his element haggling with the group, and I heard his southern accent coming out in his animated rebuttals to Magnus’ shrewd offers. Finally they seemed to strike a deal and Viertes passed goods in exchange for coin. Their talk shifted to the local landscape and they walked together towards the bar. My eavesdropping no longer possible, I returned my attention to my companions and the cider I’d been poured while I was away.


	20. The Road North

The moment I stepped outside the Inn with the sun rising over the well and lighting the broad sky above me, I was keenly aware that it had been days since I’d been outside in the sun. The light was clear and clean: it had the unmistakable slant of Autumn. I planned to be leaving this area by now, heading south to a string of towns where I’d heard a musician could make good money playing for the harvest festivals. 

Well, I was leaving alright. My friends were already outside speaking to a trader near a bustling group of caravan men loading their wagons. I recognized Magnus: the large man giving orders. He was even bigger than Viertes, and older. He was dressed for hard travel in a worn cloak, leather tunic, and tall boots, a knife’s hilt glinting above one cuff. As I neared Seamus and Vasellia, I gathered that they were purchasing supplies for the road.

We had decided to go north. Viertes’ time with Magnus was well-spent. He had brought back detailed information about the surrounding area and a road that would take us north to the mountains. I didn’t care where we headed, but Viertes seemed to. 

“No, not South,” he’d said, “Southerners are a smarmy lot. Always picking fights…” Without any cause to insist on a southern journey, we’d let him have his way. Autumn didn’t seem like the best season for a Northern journey, but I didn’t really understand just how far we were going, either. And I trusted Walagorn to lead us safely. 

My mind on cold weather, I asked the trader to show me what he had in the way of cloaks. I had left home in late winter of last year and knew what it was like to travel without warmth. Luckily I had missed most of the weather and things warmed up for me quickly that Spring. I would be wanting something warm, and I had the money from the reward. 

He brought out a lovely, dark purple wool cloak. It was too big for me across the shoulders- made for a man- but it didn’t drag the ground and I adored the color. I looked around to make sure my companions weren’t paying too much notice before sweet-talking the trader for a lower price. I might need those extra coppers before too long. 

Magnus, who had been talking with Viertes these past few minutes, turned to address the lot of us. 

“You might think of travelling with us for safety on the road, especially the more Northerly we go.”

I looked at Vasellia pleadingly, and was relieved to see strong agreement in her eyes. We both glanced at Walagorn for reassurance, then around to the others in turn. I wasn’t that fresh from my home village: I knew a woman couldn’t take such an offer without trouble. 

Viertes reluctantly declined, and he was obviously frustrated with us as we gathered our gear and set foot upon the road.


	21. Bloodletting

“... with no water nearby, it’s not ideal for game, still we might catch a rabbit if we took our time. I’ve passed through in the spring, but I’m not sure about the fall forage…” I was only half-listening to Walagorn, lost as I was in the beauty of the day. The open country and the clear air let us see for miles, though there wasn’t much to see but dry autumn grasses and the occasional hawk. I was still so glad to be above ground. 

That night, we slept under the stars near the road. I must have slept like the dead, for it seemed only a minute had passed when Vasellia jostled me awake. The sun was rising in a clear sky and I could smell something cooking. Aramil was tending the pot, and he nodded a good morning to me as I sat near the crackling young fire. Viertes sat down shortly after, gnawing on some jerky and rubbing his eyes, his poor burnt scalp glaring red in the morning light. I pulled a few yellow apples out of my pack to share, and soon we were all eating solemnly, taking in the lovely sunrise without a word. 

By noon the road was surrounded by low vegetation and even the occasional tree. I wished to the gods I’d bought a sunhat instead of a cloak, so I was glad to see forested hills in the distance: the promise of shade. Sometimes we talked about the temple, or Seamus and Walagorn would point out some plant or animal sign along the way. Aramil was quiet as always. I had almost worked up the courage to ask Vasellia where she was from when we saw something ahead in the center of the road. 

It was a massive dark form in the road about a hundred feet ahead of us. Vasellia and Seamus stepped closer, waving for the rest of us to hang back. They tried to flank the dark shape- was it a bear?- but it suddenly noticed their presence and raised its upper torso, turning in our direction. It was twice as tall as it had seemed before and loose feathery fur hung from it’s arms as it raised them from the kill it had been devouring. It was beautiful- deadly beautiful- and it looked back at us with intelligence. It opened its massive yellow beak and screeched at us, making me jump. Walagorn nocked an arrow just as the beast turned and ran into a cluster of trees down the road. 

SLowly, we approached the kill it had left behind: a mangled wolf, mostly eaten, with dark blood spray-spattered around three feet in all directions. The tracks left behind in the congealed blood were impossibly huge and clawed.

“Owlbear.” I said, almost in a whisper. It was an owlbear! I had never seen even a drawing of one, but what else could it be, but the beast with ‘fur-feathered arms’ from the songs? If it was an owlbear, and the songs were to be believed, we were lucky it had run away.

It seemed wise to travel with more caution moving forward, in case we weren’t always so lucky. That afternoon we spied a ruined lookout tower near the road and carefully explored it, finding nothing, until we were shocked back to attention by more owlbear prints, freshly made. We also saw the remains of a fire and sign that we were not the only passers-by, and soon we moved on as our fellow traveller- and the owlbear-must have done. We wanted to get some distance before we slept.

Walagorn had an idea when we made camp, and used some sort of magic to produce a small pile of berries. Viertes laughed at the sight. 

“Well what good is that, then?”

“This,” Walagorn replied, picking up a berry, “Is our dinner. It is how I healed Nymphadora when she was bitten by the Eaters. It will also fill you up and help you sleep well tonight without making a dent in our rations. Yes, even you, Viertes.” I chose two of the berries and ate them slowly. We did sleep well, and without incident we broke camp the next morning and hit the road north. 

Five days passed much like that, with berries for supper and small rations for breakfast, (or sometimes rations for supper and berries for breakfast to change things up) and we were increasingly irritable with road-weariness. The landscape had changed to scrubby oak and elder, providing minimal relief from the sun and improved shelter for larger game. We saw no other travellers and no signs of civilization except an old stone bridge and, of course, the road.

I took to practicing my lute while I walked, which is not as easy as it sounds. My companions didn’t seem to mind and it helped the time pass. Seamus brought out a small wooden flute once and played a bit with me, slipping it shyly away as the song ended. Traveling together was beginning to open us up, but we had a long way to go.

I huddled close to the fire during my watch that night, trying to stay awake by prodding the coals until they crumbled in flowing orange display. What did the others do during their watches? What was I supposed to be watching for, the owlbear? And what, exactly, would I do if I saw something? Sing at it? Walagorn’s face came into view as he approached the fire to take my place. Sleep...

I woke to sounds of panicked shuffling and instinctively reached for my lute. It was there, safe, in its soft leather case. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dawn I saw my pack open beside me, and gathered the others were also having similar realizations. I got to my knees to collect my things and stopped short: some of my items were set out as if on display, right next to my pack. The tiny vial from the water fountain, my maps, my notes... Vasellia gasped and pulled both rods to her chest, having found them similarly laid out. Walagorn and Seamus pointed out boot-prints in our camp, and we all wondered at how such a thing could have happened. Viertes interrogated us all, greatsword drawn in anxious habit. No one saw anything on watch, and nothing was taken. It was a strange violation, but we all agreed that if this interloper had wished us harm we would know it- or, you know, all be dead. What use would breaking camp early and running do? So we took our time at breakfast, tossing wild theories at one another all the while.

Walagorn surprised us the next morning by appearing through the brushes dragging a deer carcass, bled and field-dressed, behind him. We decided to take a break from walking and spent most of the day processing it. 

Butchering a deer was much like a goat when it came down to it, and I was glad to be of real help for once. When most of the cleaning and cutting was done and I had washed as best I could, Vasellia tapped my shoulder and beckoned me to follow her. We didn’t have to go far to find fall berries and mushrooms. We gathered quickly and returned to camp with skirts full of delicious additions to the venison stew. The evening was beautiful, the morning’s adrenaline fading with every word of conversation and bite of good food. After dinner I found Seamus cleaning the antlers he’d harvested from the animal. He sang a song I didn’t know while he worked, and I listened as unobtrusively as possible, afraid to destroy the moment. It was such an evening, I had to force my happy, active mind to bed after my watch. We’d done no travelling that day and I was rested, mind and body.

My dreams were a flutter of bird wings blacking out the moonlit sky, their sound coming closer and closer in the dark. I sat straight up, torn out of sleep abruptly by a leg cramp from hell, and three things happened: 

I saw the night sky full of wings from my dream, and they were not bird wings. 

I heard Aramil curse, an unfamiliar string of Elvish but definitely a curse, and

I felt a peaceful chill descend on me from head to toe, and the last thing I saw before my eyes closed was the bat-winged creature on my exposed thigh, swollen red with the blood it was draining from my body.


	22. Goodhearth

I opened my eyes, viewing the world sideways from my bedroll. Still alive. I closed them, but thought better of it when flashes from the night before appeared in the black. Wings, blood, absolute mayhem. Open your eyes, Dora.

Viertes and Vasellia were building the fire up and the grass in front of me was a forest of frosty dew. I felt weak, as though I could lay there for a thousand years, but I managed to rise and wrap my cloak tightly against the cold morning air. I joined Vasellia by the fire and we exchanged memories of the battle.

There had been eight of the foul things: huge bat-like, bloodsucking monsters. One had attacked me while I slept, and the others thought me dead, but I must have forced myself awake in time to reach for my knife and fight back. I didn’t remember that part, but I was grateful for it. I did remember Viertes falling, and Seamus fighting wildly at a cloud of the things around them both. It seemed like the monsters brought darkness with them, making it impossible to hit them. I couldn’t believe we were all still alive. We had been foolish about our watches yet again and survived. 

The sun was truly rising now, bringing color to my vision and revealing the dried blood that saturated my skirt. It was my blood, for when I killed the foul creature it had spilled it’s dinner. If I needed a bath before… 

We set out later than usual. We had discussed the night’s events at length and come up with new measures we’d take from now on that were only mildly comforting to me. The walk warmed my blood and I was feeling more at ease when we rounded a turn in the road and glimpsed the first buildings of Goodhearth. A few minutes later we were in the square of a little village, and we were not alone. 

A group of familiar wagons filled a small clearing near the town’s edge.: Magnus’ caravan. Viertes raised one hand in greeting as he passed us all, striding confidently forward to shake hands with the caravan leader. 

“How’s the road treating you?” Magnus smiled and clapped his hand on Viertes shoulder, pulling him aside to the caravan’s fire. A whole sheep was roasting there, and several of the guards joined the men to share details of their journey. Viertes didn’t forget us, though, and beckoned us join them. I took in the town as we slowly filtered through Magnus’ men to towards the fire. It was sleepy, and the forest seemed to encroach upon it lovingly, the branches of trees leaning in toward small wooden houses with stone gates and fences. I sat down next to Vasellia and listened to the conversation around me. Magnus was warning Viertes about bandits on the road North. Walagorn, who had been chatting with some of the wagon handlers, waved us over and suggested we leave Viertes to his dealings with Magnus and find the Inn nearby. I straightened my lute strap and pulled my cloak round so it covered my bloodstained skirt. I’d need to make a good impression if I was to be helpful securing room and board tonight. 

The Innkeep was a stout, middle-aged man with red cheeks. He seemed happy to see us, happier to see my lute. I gave him my best performer’s bow and introduced myself, offering to play in exchange for rooms, and he accepted almost before I finished speaking. “Always good to have some entertainment when the caravan’s in town. Keeps them out of trouble, if you know what I mean.” He tilted his head as if I should know what he meant. Sadly, I did. The caravan guards left their mark on the towns they visited in the form of illegitimate children if nothing else. 

We stowed some gear in our rooms and agreed to meet up later after we’d explored the town. The residents were mostly shepherds and sheep was on the menu. The small market sold woolen items and sheep’s milk cheese. We all bought thick blankets, gloves, and hats, but Vasellia couldn’t find anything to fit over her horns. When she asked, the trader shied away from her, and I remembered how fearful even I had once been of her unusual heritage. Another merchant spoke up, though, having overheard her request, “Lady MacDougal knits most of these here hats, y’know, and she’d probly whip y’up sompin special-like if ye popped in o’er there.”

I was still weak from the previous night and hoped to rest before I performed, so I didn’t go with Vasellia to the MacDougal house. Walagorn insisted upon joining her for safety, and the rest of us lunched at the Inn where we found Viertes waiting for us, halfway through a massive rack of lamb and bubbling over with news from Magnus. I could barely keep my eyes open as I walked straight passed him and trudged up the stairs to the softest bed in recent memory.


	23. Under Suspicion

A dismal grey light lit my work the next morning as I tried to scrub the blood from my linen overdress. Eventually I had it as clean as it would ever be and hung it over the windowsill, for all the good the foggy air would do it. I’d have to brave the Inn below in my shift and cloak. My roommates, Walagorn and Vasellia, were already downstairs and I was starving, so I decided that my modesty would have to take a back seat. 

It seemed I was later to breakfast than I thought, for the inn was empty except for a few serving girls clearing wooden platters and mugs. I peeked outside the doors and saw my companions before I joined them, conscious of my missing dress and hunger pangs. Vasellia pushed half a bowl of cold lamb stew into my hands and I murmured a thanks before eating it quickly. It seemed that Walagorn and Viertes were discussing our plans, but before I could get caught up, a large man approached us. 

He towered over all of us but Viertes, and he was well-armed. 

“What were you strangers up to last night?” It was a strange greeting, but the gleam of his sword encouraged our honest reply. Vasellia answered him confidently. “We slept in the Inn. Our companion Dora is performing there. You should come by!” 

“This is no time for music and play. Lady MacDougal was murdered last night! And we’ve heard all over town you lot were headed her way yesterday.”

Vasellia looked up as he spoke, shocked. “I… she knit me this hat….” I noticed Vasellia’s new hat for the first time, her ochre horns a stark contrast against the deep purple wool. So their search for the town’s knitter had been fruitful… and now the lady was dead. I stared at Vasellia as I listened to the stranger. She looked as shocked as I felt. 

“A mess it was, the brutality! Never seen anything like it. You’ll have to stay in town until we get to the bottom of this, and don’t think we won’t!” He turned and left us. As soon as he was out of earshot we all began to speak at once. It was too early, I recall thinking, for such an argument, and I don’t even want to recall here how some of our party turned on Vasellia, some wished to cut and run from the town, and other unpleasantness. In the end, we stayed in town, and I’m glad we did.

The Innkeeper was pleased to have me on longer, so I spent my evening- when not playing- listening to gossip and trying to understand the people of the town. Viertes hung with Magnus as planned, prying for information about the murder. Walagorn, Vasellia, and Seamus checked in with me after dark, but nothing we learned helped us think of a way to leave town without suspicion. Viertes eventually found us at the inn. The small crowd, my companions included, seeded to share a single dark cloud of worry and doubt. I felt it, too. We needed a distraction...and I had time for one more song.

“Have you hugged an Owlbear today?   
Has an Owlbear hugged you?  
Have you felt it’s beak and it’s fur-feathered arms  
Rip your body in two?”


	24. Egan

I woke to the unmistakable sound of a mob, their jeering and shouting echoing through my open window. Walagorn was already at the door, and Vasellia and I followed quickly. My first thought was that they had come for us- for her- but what could I do to stop them? It became obvious when we reached the Inn steps that this was no so. The group of villagers, lead by the constable who had confronted us earlier, dragged a young man with them to the center of town. We watched as they tied him to a post and Johnny addressed the crowd, shooing the aggressive frontmen away and insisting justice would be done. I couldn’t see through the morning fog to identify the man, but one thing was obvious: the wooden stocks were nearby, and piles of stones littered the ground around it.

We had made a plan last night to go to the MacDougal house ourselves to investigate and clear our names, but now it seemed unnecessary. Still, Seamus and Vasellia wanted to go by and see what could be seen on our way out. So we did. The house was old and sway-backed with a low stone garden wall. We were nearly at the door when two men came around front.

“Now where do you think yer goin’?”

“Johnny wants us to check out the house for him.” Viertes sounded confident but I saw the doubt on the guards’ faces.

“How about Jim Joe Bob here goes and runs that by Johnny himself, how about that?”

We had about 5 minutes. I shook off my frustration with Viertes- Vasellia or I could’ve been much more convincing to those country boys, if you know what I mean- and watched Seamus whisper the incantation he’d used with the bats. I looked around for an animal he intended to speak to, but saw nothing. Then, slowly, from the cracks in the garden wall, came three large rats. Seamus stopped here and there to translate for us.  
“They say they know who killed her!” A long few seconds went by before he continued, “not who- what. a dark cat, they say, something bigger than a common cat. Invisible?” He carried on like this, sharing only snippets with us, until Walagorn stopped him in a sharp whisper, pointing to the three men approaching from the path.

We turned as a group to greet the men. This time Viertes hadf the good sense to keep his head down and let Vasellia and I apologize for the lie. Johnny didn’t seem to care. He had an almost happy demeanor.

“It’s a pretty clear case, all told. A caravan guard- always trouble, you know. Says he’s innocent! We found the bloody silver candlesticks in his bag! Not even the decency to clean them. To think Old Lady MacDougal was killed over a few candlesticks… well at least she’ll have justice. You folks should stick around for the stoning. It’s going to be quite an event."

I had to turn away to hide my disgust. A stoning party? I thought I had left all that behind when I ran away. Guilty or not, to celebrate a brutal execution, it was unfathomable. I was grateful when the men sent us on our way. Seamus leapt right to the heart of it: he knew how the woman had been killed and he didn’t even have to see the caravan guard to know he was innocent. Framed, or some such, but innocent. Viertes waved Seamus’ words away, uncaring and ready to leave town now that we were cleared. Before long, we were at the town center where a tent had been erected over the accused. Guards stood by and the door was open, Inside, I saw him, kneeling at the post. His wrists were raw and his knees muddy. He turned his weary head to look at me and I knew him.

His name was Egan, and I knew him from The Well. He must’ve been pressed into guard service as Magnus came through, for I thought he’d given it up for domestic life. Being a bard comes with certain burdens, and one if knowing everything about everyone in town. I cannot help but overhear the tavern talk, and tavern talk is usually the truth. And so I knew Egan had welcomed a baby boy last summer and sworn to stay home and give up travelling. He had been apprenticing with the ferrier at The Well.

I realized I was still staring at him and looked away, startled. He wasn’t my problem. Oh, but he was. He was innocent and I knew it. They were going to kill him tomorrow.

Vasellia’s face appeared in front of mine and she took my cold hands in hers. “Are you alright?”

“I know him. His name is Egan. Oh, Vasellia, he has a family back at The Well.”

It took some time, but with Vasellia on my side we convinced Walagorn, Seamus, Aramil, and eventually Viertes. He put up the most resistance, and he was right in a way. We needed to leave this town behind while we could. Nothing good could come of attempting to clear the boy’s name. Viertes knew the caravan men better than any of us, and we all knew the town to be simple and wary of us from the start. There was no way we could tell them about Seamus’ information without ending up in the stocks ourselves. We made a plan, and it unfolded perfectly. I can’t say I knew it would. I felt dangerously apathetic about the consequences at the time.

It was easy to put myself at front and center of the Stoning Celebration the town meant to have. I pledged a performance of song and dance, something they’d never seen before and not to be missed. Seamus agreed to join me on his flute for my dancing segments, so we spent some time going over songs he knew. Our whole party had to be at the party- for during our show, we were going to spring Egan.

Viertes and Walagorn found a copse of trees to the south where they hid a weapon for him, and Vasellia would be the instrument of his release. Our plan had been relayed to Egan, too, so he would know what to do.

The stage was set out-of-doors for celebration and song. I knew how to read a crowd, and these people were going to be easy to distract. The caravan men, of course, but even the more prudish townsfolk stared at me onstage in my costume, jaws agape. Sure, they’d judge me tomorrow, but tonight they were watching alongside everyone else.

My costume was a barely-there silk array meant for the bedroom in my culture, adorned with wee metal bells that lightly jingled with my dance. My feet bare and my hair intricately braided with ribbons, I began with my best ballads and songs both original and traditional. Then I switched gears, beckoning Seamus onstage to play while I danced. and bent close to the audience in suggestive bows, ignoring the urge to see if my companions were impressed or horrified as the audience whistled and cheered. And while I did all this, Vasellia used her warlocks’ gifts to untie Egan.

The show wrapped up and the Innkeep called for more ale from the back, but we were slipping away to our packs and weapons which we’d stashed neatly near the road for our egress. We were far ahead on the flat terrain by the time the alarm was raised, but we saw the light of torches bobbing in the dark. We left the moonlit road and ran through the trees at Walagorn’s urging, not stopping until he said we should. This was his skillset and we didn’t question it. The sweat on my brow cooled quickly when we made camp at last, and my teeth began to chatter as I realized I was still scantily clad. When dawn broke and we faced each other in the light again, no one gave me any indication that they’d recently seen me mostly naked. Smiling, I let go of the tiny tinge of shame I felt having danced like that in front of Walagorn. In a way, I was a hero.


	25. The Little Wood Inn

The icy water of the river pulled at my feet where they dangled, soothing blisters and washing away days of road-weariness. Vasellia joined me at soaking her feet and I tried not to stare at her unique anatomy. The others were filling their waterskins and keeping watch near the stone bridge we had stopped at. Across the bridge we could see a signpost and gate- possibly the Inn we had been told to expect. Eventually, I dried my feet and reluctantly donned my shoes once more. Halfway across the bridge, we saw the Inn and picked up the pace. A real place of rest was most welcome after our panicked escape from Goodhearth.

The inn was wondrously made: a timber frame masterpiece from the outside, with massive wooden doors and carved window-frames lit from within, glowing a welcome to us as we approached. Inside, we found a cozy drinking hall with a roaring fire in the hearth. The bar’s dark timber gleamed, beckoning us, but it felt strange to sit at an empty bar with no Keeper. Suddenly, he appeared from the back room, rosy-cheeked and beaming with genuine mirth.

“Greetings, travelers! Welcome to the Little Wood Inn! Name’s Welby Birch. I’m at your service”, 

He was small, of course- I had seen halflings before- but he also seemed energetic and strong under his apron and Innkeeper’s garb. Viertes and Aramil wasted no time and had ales in hand before many of us had decided what to order. Soon we all had cold cuts of lamb and cheese and were making ourselves comfortable near the hearth. Viertes and Walagorn kept up a banter with Mr. Birch, exchanging news and gathering information. I listened idly as I took in the elaborate carvings, mostly depicting trees, that adorned every aspect of the Inn. The Innkeep talked up a storm, warning of us bandits on the road we planned to travel through Wheatmoor, extolling his brethren’s brewery and their excellent Maple Syrup and resulting Maple Mead, and inviting us to visit the Little Wood Village three days east. That got my attention and I glanced about at the others to see if we might detour there, but all were occupied with their meals. The Little Wood Monks ran this place, it seemed, and Welby was one of them. Vasellia had ordered a glass of the expensive, special Maple Mead and she passed it to me to share. It warmed my throat and lifted my spirits as if by magic. I had never tasted anything so fine.

It was all so lovely: The majestic hearth flickering light over the carved beams and panels, my companions at ease, drinking and talking. I, too, felt completely at home here. I began unwrapping my lute for tuning. The last time I had played had been a distraction for Egan. I wondered if my playing here would bother anyone. I finished the glass of mead and began to play.

My fingers wandered through rhythmic ayres, pieces of music I had learned years ago blending together until I found myself playing the first bars of a song I had written for Walagorn. It felt right. So I sang:

In a temple of water and fire we met  
My heart aflame though my feet were wet  
His sword in his hand, his bow so grand  
Walagorn, my love  
...  
When the armor attacked, bravely he fought  
I stood with my lute and watched in awe  
Slashing with steel, may my song gently heal  
Walagorn, my love

Walagorn, Walagorn,   
Sheath your sword, take my hand  
Legends will tell of our love in this well  
We will travel the land  
As woman and man  
Walagorn, my love

I looked up from my instrument as my fingers danced over the last notes. There he was, staring at me with a shocked expression. Aramil and Viertes still continued their conversation, oblivious, but Vasellia and Seamus were watching Walagorn intently. 

I cased my lute and returned to my plate, pretending I hadn’t just spilled my heart in front of everyone. Vasellia had more mead and I drank some, flustered and embarrassed. I hoped to catch Walagorn’s eye when suddenly, he rose and sat next to me. 

“Nymphadora, that was a beautiful song.” He hesitated for a moment, then continued, “ You know, the land we are travelling through is not very far from my birthplace.” I met his eye and fought the urge to look away, afraid to lose myself in the billowing texture of his hazel irises. “I haven’t seen my father in many years. I wouldn’t care to- he is a tyrant.”

“Oh, I understand! I ran away from my home, too, you know. My parents- they were going to force me to marry someone I did not love.” I stopped short, conscious of my propensity to ramble.

“The bandits that the barkeep keeps mentioning, I may know them. See, I have spent some time fighting my tyrant father here, working with others in groups that some think of as bandits”

“Wow, that sounds dangerous! And brave.” There was a strange buzzing my my head now, and I felt euphoric, I had told Walagorn how I felt, finally, and now he was sharing everything with me…

I woke, head splitting, in a too-small but very warm bed that must have been upstairs from the tavern. I had no memory of getting to bed, or unlacing my shoes, or… suddenly, the memory of my song and Walagorn hit me. I had sung the song, THE SONG, and he had told me he liked it, and that he was a hero bandit fighting a tyrant and, and, and… He was sleeping on the floor next to the bed. Vasellia was next to me, one arm draped over her eyes as she slept. I squirmed excitedly, then carefully removed myself from the bedding and dressed near the door. What excitement might today hold? Even this headache couldn’t keep me down.

We breakfasted like royalty, Welby and his brethren having prepared porridge with dried fruit and goat’s milk, sweetened with the ever-present maple syrup. I kept looking up at Walagorn to see an inkling of anything, any sign that my song had really gotten through, but he kept to his meal and serious talk of the road ahead. The bandits were many, it seemed, and while there had been no casualties they had never been escaped or fought off without taking everything. I found myself imagining Walagorn the bandit, righting wrongs and giving all to the less fortunate. 

“Dora? Dora, are you alright?” Vasellia’s hand loosened from my shoulder as I shook the fantasy from my mind and came back to the moment. She was standing above me and the others had already left the table. “Let’s gather our gear.”

And so we took our leave of Mr. Birch and the Little Wood Inn. Vasellia had purchased a small wooden cask of the Maple Mead and Viertes carried it over his shoulder like it was nothing. Walagorn hung back as the group approached the road until he was walking by my side. 

“So what do you remember about last night?”, he asked.

“Oh, everything!”, I blurted. “ I can’t wait to meet your bandit friends!”


	26. Wheatmoor

The forest we had been surrounded by on the road from Goodhearth dwindled to nothing on this side of the river and soon we were walking through grassy farmland. We travelled differently; Viertes whittled while he walked, Seamus played his flute for us unabashedly. We felt no rush, so we made camp earlier and spent time together before we slept. Walagorn showed some of us how to use our weapons more effectively, and Aramil took more time to meditate nearby. The miles went quickly and soon enough, we reached Wheatmoor. 

A few scattered farmhouses at first, the town grew around us as we walked. There were stables, wainwrights, and ferriers. Smoke rose from chimneys near a market and I smelled freshly baked bread. It had been a while since I’d seen a town like this and I was eager to find an Inn in want of a bard. Would they have bathing tubs? All agreed we should spend the day here gathering supplies for the northern road.

Once our accommodations were secured, I had a few hours before I was expected to perform, and I spent them at the market. When I found my friends again I was leading my purchases by a rope: A pack mule carrying a two-person tent and several wool blankets upon her back. These had cost quite a bit of the money I’d received as reward, but I couldn’t resist the idea of shelter from the bloodsucking monsters we’d encountered. And the animal could help us carry our gear. I could tell the others thought my purchases had been foolish, but I didn’t mind. I hadn’t slept well under the stars since the Stirge attack, and we couldn’t always find an Inn on the road. 

The tavern hall had a wooden stage from which I played. I stuck to traditional songs and the audience adored them. My travelling companions had a table of their own in the back. Viertes chatted with the locals and I knew he would have more information about the road ahead for us tonight.

I didn’t retire straight away that evening. My bath was waiting. I hadn’t told the others about this frivolity, though it was obvious when I returned to them visibly cleaner, running my fingers through my wet hair. 

“The way I see it there’s money to be made here. The townsfolk want rid of these bandits, and they don’t want to accept help from the King to the West. If we took care of them, we could earn some coin. And they’d no doubt be carrying a fair amount of loot as well!” Viertes was obviously excited about his idea. He seemed to have Walagorn convinced, but for different reasons.

“These outlaws are not of my acquaintance. They’ve burned towns- run people off- stolen even the animals people need to survive. This was never the way we did things. It’s probably only luck that no one has been killed. If we run into the group, we will have to fight, and the way the townsfolk tell it, you can scarcely travel the road without a run-in. Maybe Viertes is right- we could help these people.”

“Well we don’t want to just walk the road and hope we get hit! We need a plan, so we’re ready for them when they strike. If we could somehow appear to be an easy target…” Seamus looked my way as he said it and I straightened my shoulders to try and look more formidable. But then a thought occurred to me.

I reappeared moments later with my wedding gown in hand. I had taken it the night I ran with the hope of selling it, but never had needed to. It was beautiful: fine silk with elaborate golden embroidery, wrinkled from months in my pack.

“How about I wear this? I can ride and you lead me, it’ll look like we’re a wedding party.” I didn’t add what I was thinking: Besides, I’m probably more useful as bait anyway. And that is how we set out from Wheatmoor. The others carried my gear and I sat side-saddle on my new friend Roxanne, who had a pleasant temperament and didn’t mind one bit.


	27. Bandit Bait

Looking back, I’m not sure what we were thinking. I felt useful as the bait, and admit I enjoyed the respite from walking the road. We passed burned-out barns and houses, proof that the bandits were more than a rumour. Camping near a ruined farm one evening we saw more evidence of violence: animals slaughtered in their pens and left to rot. The black, crumbling grasses of the fire stopped short of a single building still standing at this farm, and we were shocked to find it full of chickens. Vasellia expressed horror at their circumstances and let them out, gathering their eggs excitedly, but Viertes grabbed one red hen and wrung its neck without hesitation. I was with him: looked like dinner to me.

I suppose the others spent their nights waiting for bandits. Playing the role of affluent bride meant I carried no weapons and I slept in the tent. I didn’t even play my lute, and I missed it terribly by the second day. I was feeling guilty riding Roxanne while the others walked, especially since nothing had come of our charade. We passed White River and crossed the toll bridge uneventfully. 

That night we did encounter something, but it wasn’t bandits. I jumped to waking at the sound of a screeching roar I had heard before. Peeking out of the tent , I saw an Owlbear illuminated by Vasellia’s fiery spell. It’s silhouette towered above our small camp for a brief moment before it ran into the night like it had never been there. Was it the same Owlbear? I shuddered at the thought that it probably wasn’t. They were beautiful, sure, but I didn’t like the idea that they were everywhere. My tent couldn’t protect me from those claws. 

The next day’s miles brought us into a pine forest with deep duff and sparse undergrowth. Seamus brightened at the sight, obviously at home around trees such as these. There were no surprises in the landscape for Walagorn who had concentrated his efforts in White River to learn about the terrain ahead. He knew we were headed toward a lumber town a few days north, and that the road would follow the river for the most part. Soon, we saw the plateau rising above the river’s far edge, a formation from the Great Breaking, as the locals called it. We all knew what they meant: everyone knew stories of the cataclysmic events some 70 years ago. Aramil knew first hand, though he looked as young as Seamus. Earthquakes, fires, floods. My village elders had explained them as the wrath of the Gods. Looking up the cliff face to the stark line of it’s edge against the blue sky, I could see why such destruction would be blamed on the all-powerful. 

Viertes and Walagorn walked ahead of us here, wary of the forest pressing us on the right, obscuring our view of the road where it curved slightly east. My cliff-musings were interrupted by the sound of voices up the road, and I slipped off of Roxanne’s back, leading her alongside Vasellia to catch up to whatever was the matter. 

Who goes there?” I heard Walagorn’s voice as I rounded the curve and he came into view.

Ahead of us, both on the road and in the woods, I saw them: at least 10 armed men, all aiming crossbow bolts at Viertes and Walagorn. I still kept a good distance, but I felt my hands shaking as I realized the bandits had taken the bait. This is what we had been hoping for. I took my cue from the others and slipped behind Roxanne to arm myself and take hold of my lute. Aramil was whispering caution to the others- we were outnumbered and needed to be wise- but Vasellia pressed forward a bit. Thunk, a crossbow bolt pierced the ground in front of her. 

“Drop your weapons and your gear and we’ll let you live!” came a voice from one of the men on the road. 

Viertes shifted , glancing back at Walagorn almost apologetically before launching ahead on the road towards the main group, drawing his sword as he ran, roaring in defiance of the enemy. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and for a moment it seemed the bandits were similarly perplexed, but as the first bolt glanced off of Viertes’ chestplate, my daze was broken by Vasellia’s firm grip on my hand. 

“We have to help him!”

There was no time. Vasellia and I worked simultaneously to cast sleeping magic across the visible field, and several of the armed men slumped, but it wasn’t enough. Viertes still charged ahead on the road. Aramil, Walagorn and Seamus took to the trees, and Vasellia and I led Roxanne after them at a run, hoping to stay out of the line of fire. 

Viertes was still 20 feet from his target when, just like the bandits we had disabled, he fell forward in a mighty crash, his greatsword skittering aside in the dust. 

“We have magic users, too!” I heard jeering from the troupe of bandits as l ran through the trees with Roxanne. The great pine trunks rushed by me, offering glimpses of the mess we were in: I had run right into the fray and my only hope of protection was the forest itself. I passed a sleeping form, his cloak a blue puddle on the duff, and Seamus appeared, drawing a knife to quickly cut the man’s throat. The forest stood still around me as I stumbled to a halt, horrified and shaking, gripping a tree for support. The thwik-thwik sound of Walagorn’s arrows was interspersed with the harder, more mechanical sound of the crossbows. A cloaked figure crouched nearby, and when it turned toward me I saw it was Vasellia, short sword in each hand. Blood glistened from them and the fallen bandit behind her did not move. She stopped near me to remove my own crossbow from my back and place it in my hands, then ran through the trees to aid Seamus. Walagorn joined us in the trees with Viertes newly rescued from the sleep spell, blood trailing down his neck from a gash on his chin. Two crossbow bolts stuck out of the ranger’s shoulder. 

A group of three young men appeared through the trees ahead of me clad in patched clothing and mismatched armor. I held up my weapon, aimed at one, and fired. My bolt hit his chest, killing him instantly. I watched him fall to the duff, his companions soon joining him, hacked and slashed and pierced. Aramil and Seamus fought through the trees, chasing the bandits now. A great horn sounded through the woods. I left Roxanne’s side and walked toward the man I had just killed. His shirt was stained with blood. His leather helmet had fallen aside and he had dark, unkempt hair. What had I just done?

“Stop staring at that dead boy and help me!”

Vasellia was keeping a handle on the group from the road which had come upon us in the trees now. I went to her aid, casting sleep once more so the others could cut more throats. At last, we let the final few escape and assessed our own damage. 

I felt like I could smell the blood in the air and on my hands. It was sickening. I let my legs go and sat in the pine needles while the others gathered the weapons and coin from the dead.


	28. Stakeout

I don’t know if I slept that night. Waking and Sleeping seemed to all be one great nightmare. The sound of blood gushing from a knife to the throat, the flash of bolts through the air. And I couldn’t shake the vision of that bloody shirt, his hair covering his face so that he might have been sleeping. I had killed him. I didn’t even know his name. 

“No one ever knows the name of people they kill in a battle. I’m proud of you, you did good!” Viertes was no comfort to me. Vasellia had tried to convince me that he was probably a bad person, and Walagorn had reminded me of the troglodytes we’d killed and how this was no different, but none of it eased my mind. You read the stories and hear the songs about valiant heroes, and they are full of death. Those heroes never have nightmares after killing. I felt weaker than ever, and contemplated leaving my companions to return to Wheatmoor and live out my days as a musician, but I was also afraid to be alone. Dora, the coward.

We headed north, the river and massive cliffside still with us. Walagorn and Seamus worked together to track the path of those who had escaped the battle. I moved my body and it obeyed, I led Roxanne but at times she was leading me. Paying only minimal attention to the group, I kept my watches and tried in vain to sleep afterwards. 

The first glimmer of hope was a song. I was keeping watch when it found me, a tiny melody on my lute and words flowing with it to express my sorrow. I slept that night, but the morning still brought the sting of remembering what I had done. Self defense. WE had attacked them. They were just thieves, not murderers.

I joined Vasellia near the river with the others. Viertes and Aramil were peering up the cliff into the bright sky, but I couldn’t see anything. Walagorn explained to us that this had to be where the bandits had crossed the river. After some inspection, the men discovered a large metal ringbolt in the stone shore, possibly part of the crossing system the outlaws had used. Looking up again at the cliff, I couldn’t imagine what good crossing the river would have done them. They were running from us for good reason. We had brutally murdered 12 of them and were hunting down the rest. What was our plan if we found them?

The group decided to camp out of sight in that area, hopeful we could capture the bandits should they return this way. I didn’t argue, and I kept my thoughts to myself. The following afternoon Seamus saw glints of light reflected from the cliff’s edge, and we stayed hidden, waiting, but nothing came of it. The druid attempted his now-familiar magic that brought animals for him to question, so I found myself looking past him into the trees for a squirrel or fox, whatever he would call, but a beautiful owl swooped between us on massive wings to land on Seamus’ forearm. He spoke to it in a whisper and let it go with an upward movement of his arm. 

The bird swooped in larger circles, visible as a blacker silhouette against the starry sky. We watched it intently, fearful for it when it disappeared over the edge of the plateau top and relieved when it’s flight path brought it back in our sight. Soon, it wound its way back down to Seamus, where he spoke to it again. 

“They’re up there,” Seamus explained. “Four or five.”

Vasellia and I settled into our watch as the others attempted sleep. Now that we knew they were above us, I passed the time trying to figure out a way to avoid killing them. My friends were all hell-bent on the opposite. Maybe Vasellia would hear me. She didn’t seem like the heartless type. 

Just as the hour turned and I stood to stretch my legs, Vasellia made her five raven calls of alarm. For a moment I didn’t remember what I was supposed to do, but then I rushed to Aramil where he slept near a fallen tree. Above us in the pre-dawn sky, 5 figures floated down from the plateau. Their descent was impossibly slow like divers underwater. We all remained hidden, alert. I pulled a bit of cloth from my leather pouch and felt its texture in the darkness.

The only sound was the cold slither of Viertes drawing his sword. No. I couldn’t let this unfold.


	29. Better Nature

ARRGGHH!!!

Viertes roared with insane fury, charging at the four young men who approached him, half-dressed and barely armed. His breastplate was covered in blood and hair from the man he’s just cut down at the door, and something similarly gruesome dangled from his sword hilt as he brandished it. The four paused as one, faces white as sheets, then ran, one tripping over his loose trousers which had slipped from his waist, then hoisting them up and bolting with the others. I turned, checking the doorways of each house for signs of life, my hand fused to my rapier with drying blood. I pushed a stray strand of hair from my eyes in a red smear, stepping clear of the pile of bodies I was standing over, and saw Walagorn across the courtyard locked in intense combat with two more of the mercenaries. Seamus was closest and leapt to join her, leaving a trail of half-dead men, blood pouring from their ears, the entire scene lit by the roaring fire we’d made of the Mayor’s mansion.

I suppose I should go back a little to explain how we got here.

Yes, the bandits, flying down the cliff. Viertes’ greatsword drawn. My naive decision to step out into the clearing unarmed before the others could act.

Moonlight made my linen dress glow as I stepped toward the men who had descended from the cliff. I had dropped my pack and weapons in the bushes and now held both hands up in surrender, clutching only a piece of cloth in one.

“Please, I’m unarmed. I mean no harm.” My voice echoed against the cliff, drowned by the river’s constant white noise. This has not been the plan. We’d been through it; according to them, these bandits needed to die. But I couldn’t possibly live with that, days after the battle we’d had with their troupe where I had killed that young man, watched him die. The cloth I held was a scrap of his tunic which I had taken before Vasellia dragged me away from his body. I had lain awake at night since, swearing I would somehow make it right.

“Hey, little girl. Charlie, look it’s just a girl!” The first of the bandits spoke, gesturing with a short sword to where I stood against the trees. Aramil appeared next to me, uninvited but apparently my escort for this peacemaking endeavor. “Oh you’ve got a friend, do you, sweetheart?” The other men fanned closer to us, weapons drawn, looking much larger and fiercer than I remembered from the battle. 

“We don’t want any more killing. We- I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to kill him. The people in Wheatmoor said you were ruthless bandits, but maybe that isn’t true- we have seen that you don’t take lives. What happened between us was a misunderstanding-”

“You not satisfying her, man? I bet we could make her happy, come here little girl-” One of the men reached out toward me and I shrank back, but then held out the bright green cloth. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Oh, you the lot that killed John? He was dead weight. Taken out by a girl!” The men laughed, but didn’t take their eyes from us. “We’ll forgive you if you come over here and let us show you a good time.” Aramil stepped forward and in front of me without a word, but I pushed him aside and appealed again, “Please, just say there will be peace between us.” I was crying now.

“Just go on, get out of here. If we see you again, you’ll wish you’d killed us. Especially you, wench.” And they backed away, breaking into a run in the darkness down the road. 

The rest of our party appeared from the trees then, surrounding me and scolding me all at once. Viertes was miffed if only because of the loot we might have scored, but the rest were genuinely angry that I had put myself at risk, and everyone spent some time telling me so. 

I didn’t speak a word of what was in my heart, and it festered. They were right, those bandits were terrible, horrible men in need of killing. There was no honor there, not even respect for a fallen comrade. And I couldn’t make a death right. As we wound our way through the trees along the road, I dropped the green scrap of wool. John. That was his name. If we had not killed them, if they had captured us, would I be alive? Would I wish I were dead?

The days that followed were a blur. We had a scare with some wolves one night and the next day rested our feet for awhile, riding in a cabbage wagon with a farmer and his son. I found I was still able to do small things despite my heavy heart, mending some of the farmer’s equipment in exchange for cabbages that we added to Roxanne’s load. The farmer brought us to Turock, a lumber town, and bid us farewell. 

We lingered for a day in Turock. Walagorn taught me to make sauerkraut from the cabbages, an overt attempt at warming my spirits that was effective for awhile. I had grown used to his lack of interest in me, and frankly since I’d killed John even I was disinterested in me. Everything I believed in was a fairytale and I was so naive that I’d nearly gotten myself killed (or worse) chasing after it. It hurt to think of my Master, allowing me to idolize such drivel. His weapon was what I believed in now. It could pierce heroes and villains alike, it’s blade the only reliable thing he’d given me. 

Soon after Turock we neared Grimrock, the town this chapter found us in at the beginning. We approached it knowing from the locals in Turock that it was a mining center famously closed to visitors, but they could not tell us why. A large inn and shanty-like ferrier’s shed sat near the road on our approach, and behind those the stone walls of the town, gate closed, guard tower obviously occupied, its baleful lanterns glowing in the foggy evening. 

The Inn was large but vacant, except for one drunken innkeep who was of no use. Our attempts to scale the wall set off an alarm of some kind and we had a narrow escape from a mob of guardsmen. Eventually, we crept around the edge of the walled town until we could see the village below. Suddenly a bell rang and a line of men and women emerged from what appeared to be the mine’s entrance. I watched for someone to wander from the crowd and was successful, spotting a young man veering off towards the dark housing units, and I slid down the rocky slope to use my whiles. 

His name was Roger Abernathy, a man of 25 years who worked in the mines as a slave. According to him, they all did- the town had been taken over and everyone forced into labor for the Mayor and his cronies. I warned him that I was using magic to keep him calm, and that I meant no harm by this, but rather hoped to keep him safe. Embellishing our position, I told him that Walagorn of Kirkland and his army were coming to liberate Grimrock and that we needed the help of the villagers. My spell, along with carefully placed smiles, worked marvelously. He spilled everything he knew to me. 

The mayor lived in a mansion in the middle of town, having taken over with the aid of a wizard who also dwelt there now. The old Founder was petrified in the center of town as a warning, and anyone who disobeyed got the same treatment. He figured there were about 30 mercenary men working with the mayor, and he explained that they lived in the larger houses near the mansion. 

I didn’t want to have to charm this man again so before I left him I promised I’d return, holding his hand in mine, hoping to give him the wrong impression. It wasn’t hard to pretend; Roger was, by all accounts, a handsome man. But I digress. 

I returned to my companions with the information, and we mulled it over. It seemed like the mineshaft was going to be the path to the temple we’d seen on the map. No roads led north, and a rough location was all we had to go on. I lamented the fate of the townsfolk and felt an honorable desire to make good on our promises of liberation, imagining these cronies as the bandits in the woods, all hungry eyes and filthy tongues. The town was living in hell, forced to mine day and night for them, and who knew what else...

“Yes, we have to do something. But what?” Aramil looked at us all in turn. 

“Let’s burn the mansion down.” My own recklessness shocked me, and I purposely imagined us dying down there in the ensuing battle only to find that I didn’t care. “It’ll be fun.”

“What?! Are… well, it’s not a bad idea. Go in at night, start some fires, kill everyone that tries to flee…” Seamus was on board. Walagorn put on his gloves, thinking.  
“We could have Mr. Abernathy warn the innocent to stay indoors and away from the square,” the ranger said, half to himself. Viertes shrugged. “Let’s kill some bad guys!” We all turned to Vasellia expectantly. 

Her golden eyes twinkled like stars. “Burn it.” 

And so fate found us in the square, bathed in blood and losing count of our kills. The mansion-fire lit the entire village in its garish glow, and cast long, dancing shadows in the bloody dirt where we stood when the deed was done. 

The town hailed us as heroes, and we let them- even encouraged it. And they were liberated. Roger Abernathy helped us set up temporary relief for the village, a natural leader, distributing food and weapons. We found more guards in the mines and turned our heads when the villagers “took them into custody,” never to be seen again. It was a bloody business, and only got bloodier when we found sex and drug slaves in the mines instead of a temple. 

I was truly an adventurer, with brave companions and heroic deeds. But a numbness had taken hold of my heart. Why were we here? What were we doing? 

—  
The parchment of my precious journal curled and cracked, black in the flames. I had clung to that book for so long- those words were meant to be legend someday- but found I felt nothing as it turned to ash at my feet.

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, Dora stops writing their fantastic tale, dramatically burning her journal in the campfire.


End file.
